


Outsiders

by waytooserious



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-29
Updated: 2013-05-29
Packaged: 2017-12-13 08:32:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/822221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waytooserious/pseuds/waytooserious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An early bonding moment between Jon and Arya.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Outsiders

**Author's Note:**

> The first ASOIAF fic I ever wrote ... just something that popped into my head one day.

Jon Snow sat on the low roof over the Winterfell kitchens, feeling peaceful. Here, he was above the noise of the castle, away from Ser Rodrik’s training and Lady Stark’s disapproving gaze. He heard a scrabbling noise on the stonework, and a pair of small hands appeared on the rooftop. He expected that it was Bran - he was only six, but he’d been climbing since before he was walking – but instead it was Arya’s scruffy head that appeared. He chuckled, and offered a hand to pull her up.

She snorted, refusing his hand, and hauled her skinny frame up and over the edge. When she was up, she righted herself and gave him a grin, which he returned. She dug inside the pocket of her tunic and retrieved a slightly squashed spice cake, obviously stolen from the kitchen. With grubby fingers, she tore the cake in two, and handed him half. He took it, noting that she could’ve taken a lemon cake – he knew she preferred those – but she’d taken a spice cake instead, knowing that they were his favourite. For the next few minutes they ate in companionable silence, watching the comings and goings in the yard below.

She was seven, going on eight, but as sharp as a new blade. He’d always loved her, from the moment she’d opened her solemn grey eyes – eyes that matched his – and gripped his five-year-old finger with uncanny determination. But lately she wasn’t just his scrappy, adorable little sister … she was good company, especially when Jon started to feel out of place. It had been happening more and more since his twelfth birthday.

“I thought of something today,” she announced, in her usual abrupt style, and didn’t wait for his permission to continue. “We’re the last in line to Winterfell, me and you.”

“What?” he asked, startled.

“Septa Mordane says that Robb will be Lord of Winterfell, one day. And if he doesn’t have any children, it will go to Bran, then Rickon. Boys come before girls.” This last part was added a scowl, and a hunching of the shoulders. Yes, Jon thought, but bastards come last of all.

“But after all the boys, it would be Sansa, because she’s older than me. I’d be last. I know I’d be a better lord than Sansa. Rickon, too. And probably Bran. Maybe not Robb, though,” she went on thoughtfully. “But that doesn’t matter. I’d be last. Except for you.”

He reached out and ruffled her untidy hair. “Almost right. You would be last. But I wouldn’t come anywhere at all. It would be one of your father’s far-flung cousins; someone from the Vale. Bastards don’t get to inherit. Unless King Robert legitimized me …”

“What’s lemitigize?” she interrupted.

“Legitimize. It means I’d be a proper Stark. But that won’t ever happen.”

“If I ever meet the king, I’ll make him lemit … letim … you know what I mean,” she said, fiercely.

He laughed out loud. “I’m sure you would, little sister. But it won’t matter. Robb and Bran and Rickon will all grow into strong men, and have strong sons. And you and I will just have to make the best of it.”

She thought for a moment, pulling moss from the slate and rolling it between her fingers. “Septa Mordane said some other things … Father was never meant to be Lord. His brother Brandon was older. But Brandon died in King’s Landing, and Father was next in line.”

“That’s true,” Jon agreed softly. “But you don’t want your brothers to die.”

She shook her head ferociously, hair flying, and he wondered if he’d upset her, not that she’d ever show it. But he had an amusing idea.

“But what if Robb decided to join the Night’s Watch, like Uncle Benjen?” he asked, his eyes twinkling.

Her face lit up. “Yes! Father wouldn’t like it, and Mother would have a fit … she might even forget to be cross with me …” 

He laughed along with her. “Brothers of the Night’s Watch hold no lands or titles … and have no sons.”

She was getting into the spirit of it. “And if Bran’s a really good knight, like he wants to be, he might get invited to join the Kingsguard, and they can’t have any of that stuff either.” Arya knew all about the white knights of the Kingsguard; they featured in all of Sansa’s favourite stories.

“He’d like that,” Jon agreed. “And Winterfell would go to Rickon.”

“Rickon …” Arya echoed thoughtfully, choosing a different fate for her youngest brother. “Rickon could be a maester!” she burst out, amid peals of laughter, and Jon soon joined it. “Imagine little baby Rickon …”

“… wearing a maester’s chain!” He finished the sentence for her, still chuckling. In his mind he could see the little red-haired baby peeking out of the top of a coiled chain. “And that only leaves Sansa,” he reminded her.

Arya huffed. “We could send her off to the silent sisters!” she said grumpily, remembering the family of baby rats she’d hidden away in the crypts, sneaking them scraps of her dinner, and how Sansa had run straight off to tattle to Septa Mordane the moment she found out.

“Well,” Jon said thoughtfully. “All of this would make you Lady of Winterfell!”

She nodded. “And then I’d make King Robert litimize you,” she grinned at him. “And you could be my lord!”

He laughed and pulled her into a rough hug, his melancholy mood blown away by the complete ridiculousness of her idea. He was an outsider by birth; his little sister was an outsider by choice, but at least they were outsiders together.


End file.
